


One Knight in Kandor

by Mithen



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Abduction, Humor, M/M, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-18
Updated: 2006-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Wayne is kidnapped and finds himself in Kandor, which is currently ruled by the brainwashed Ultraman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Knight in Kandor

Something was wrong with Clark Kent.  That was obvious from the moment he entered Wayne Manor, knocking over the umbrella stand and elbowing Alfred aside.  For starters, he seemed to take up about three times as much space as usual, somehow.  He spotted Bruce in the library and made a beeline for him, throwing out his chest boldly--which made him look rather like a strutting pigeon, Bruce thought incongruously.  Clark rested his hands on Bruce's shoulders, rather heavily, and grinned.  It was alarmingly close to a leer, actually.

Definitely something wrong. 

Bruce started to back away, but the hands on his shoulders tightened and held him there.  Clark looked intently at his face, and Bruce had the sudden uncomfortable feeling he was...x-raying his teeth?  The hands slid down to his waist, then slightly lower, and squeezed.  "Good hips," Clark muttered to himself.

All right, this was getting very strange.

As Bruce considered the options--Red K?  Mind control?  Clark cocked his head to the side and grinned again.  "Magnificent!" he announced.  "Indeed, the acme of human perfection.  Truly worthy of Me." 

Something about the way he pronounced the personal pronoun--the fact that Bruce could hear the capital letter--finally clicked.  This wasn't Clark Kent at all.  At least, not the Clark Kent he knew.  He had fought this person a variety of times:  Ultraman.  Crazy, perverted, and completely narcissistic, a bizarre negative copy of Superman. 

He started to drop into a fighting stance, but the still-grinning not-Clark bopped him briskly on the head, swung his limp body over one shoulder like a sack of grain, and disappeared before Alfred's appalled eyes.

: : :

Bruce woke up alone in a large bed draped with silk and lace.  Wincing, he swung his feet onto the floor, stood up--and gaped at the sight of himself in a mirror on the wall.

He was dressed in an almost Chinese-style outfit of jet-black silk.  It had a high Mandarin collar and flowed to his knees, with slits cut up the sides, and blousy pants in matching black silk. The neckline and hems were embroidered in silver thread, and soft black slippers completed the ensemble.  The fabric shimmered, and as Bruce looked at it closely he realized it was woven with a subtle moire pattern.  He blinked at it.  The sign of the House of El glimmered back at him, woven into every square inch of the outfit.

Bruce looked at himself in the mirror, black silk draped and floating about him.

He looked completely ridiculous.

There was a marble veranda, and he went to it and looked out.  The sky above was a flat silver that he had seen a few times before--the walls of the bottle city of Kandor.

How did he get into Kandor, and what was Ultraman doing there?

And more importantly, why was he wearing this ludicrous outfit?

And most importantly, he realized with a shudder, who had put him into it?

As his mind reeled back from the last question, the door to the room opened and Ultraman came in, dressed in a black and red parody of Superman's costume, down to the shield.  He spread his arms wide, beaming.  "You awaken at last, my midnight blossom!"

Bruce put his back to the veranda railing.  It was a very long drop down, with no decel line handy.  "What's going on here, Ultraman?"

A puzzled frown creased Ultraman's face.  "I am Kal-El, ruler of Kandor, the last of the House of El.  Who is Ultraman?"

"You are."  It seemed very important to get some kind of baseline sanity established here. 

But Ultraman was having none of it.  The huge smile came back to his face.  "No matter, my Rose of Sharon.  What's important is that Mother told me to find you, and I have!  I have at last.  You and you alone are truly great enough to be my consort."

"Your--what?"  Bruce longed to ask this guy if he was for real, but the smitten look on Ultraman's face told him he might not like the answer.

"The consort of El, of course!"

Bruce made a growling noise that Ultraman seemed to find charming.  "So you've kidnapped me and dressed me up in black pajamas--"

"--those are not pajamas, my dark angel.  Those are royal consort robes."  Ultraman sounded rather hurt.

"I am not going to be your consort."

Admiring fire lit Ultraman's eyes.  Bruce wished it would light them a little less literally.  "Such modesty!  Such rectitude!"  Bruce very much did not like the relish with which the man pronounced that last word.  "You are nearly as modest as I am--and humility is especially difficult when one has achieved such a pinnacle of perfection, is it not?"

"I wouldn't know."  Bruce was scanning the room for possible weapons, but everything seemed rather on the soft and frilly side.

Ultraman chuckled delightedly.  "Ah, my ebon skylark.  You shall bear me such magnificent children."

All strategic thought fled;  Bruce gaped at Ultraman.  "What?" 

The lunatic gestured out across the Kandorian skyline.  "Our children shall inherit all of this, my chosen one!  Such fine and lusty babies they shall be, as perfect as both of us.  The dynasty of the House of El shall continue forever, our high and noble pedigrees mingled in our progeny...as we are mingled in our love."  He advanced on Bruce, his eyebrows waggling lewdly.

Bruce dodged, but he had no illusions he could do so forever.  "All right, in the first place, you're not even Kryptonian.  You're a human who was experimented on by aliens.  No dynasty.  No House of El."

Ultraman looked puzzled.  "Are you certain?  Mother told me I was the Last Son of Krypton.  Mother would never lie to me."  Bruce wasn't sure who this "Mother" was, but he definitely wanted to have some words with her.

"Second," Bruce continued as if this entire argument was not completely insane, "We are both male.  Men.  Of the masculine gender.  Two penises, no womb.  That means no babies."

Ultraman's brow cleared.  "Oh, that's what you're worried about," he exclaimed in relief.   "That's no problem at all, we're going to fix that just fine."  He grabbed Bruce by the wrist and dragged him a couple of steps toward what Bruce had rather assumed was an elaborate sculpture and now suddenly realized was a complicated crystalline machine that looked rather like a glass Venus Flytrap.  "That's what we have this for!"  He paused in front of the machine, grinning madly at Bruce.  "This is the ooroo kaoyuu, the Bloom of Metamorphosis.  We'll just pop you in there and--"

Bruce could think of two things that could happen to make him able to bear Ultraman's children;  he decided he didn't like either option at all.  With a burst of adrenaline he managed to wrench his wrist away from the surprised not-Kryptonian and bolted out of the room and down a hallway, leveling a couple of guards with silk-slipper-clad kicks.  He could hear Ultraman's voice echoing behind him as the King of Kandor sailed leisurely after him.  "Beloved!  While I appreciate your attempt to add mystery and the thrill of pursuit to our relationship, I am quite anxious to begin to fulfill our dynastic destiny..."

There was a long-awaited crashing sound and Ultraman yelped.  "You!  Mother said I wasn't to talk to you, you pretender, go away!"  There was a sharp scuffle, then silence. 

"Uh...Bruce?"  It seemed to be Clark's voice;  Bruce peered around a corner to find Superman standing over Ultraman's prone body.  "There you are," Clark said happily.  "Alfred called me the moment you disappeared, I'm sorry it took me so long to get here."

Bruce walked up to Superman.  "I had things under control," he said icily.  "Couldn't you have just zapped me out?  Your powers won't last very long here."

"Oh, I know, but it was more satisfying this way."  Superman smiled at him, and Bruce tried not to remember how he had felt when the man he had taken for Clark Kent had run his hands down Bruce's body back at the Manor.  He concentrated, instead, on looking as dignified as he could in flowing black silk robes.

"Well, are we going home now?"

Clark started.  "Oh, sure.  Right."  He picked up Bruce very gingerly and carried him to the veranda, then flew up and made the transition into the Fortress of Solitude.  "Would you like a lift back to the Manor?"

"Since I have no other mode of transportation, I suppose I'm forced to accept your offer.  And the sooner I'm out of this ridiculous outfit, the better," he snarled, looking down at the offending fabric.

Superman cleared his throat;  Bruce looked up to find him blushing furiously.  "Actually, I think it looks quite...fetching on you."

Bruce gritted his teeth.  "Just take me home, Clark."

: : :

"...and so I was saved, in large part thanks to your quick thinking as usual, Alfred.  Thank you."

Alfred picked the pile of black sillk up off the bed as Bruce slipped into a robe.  He noticed that Bruce had folded the outfit up carefully.  "And what would you like me to do with, uh..."

Bruce started.  "Oh!  Well, I suppose you could just--um, keep them in a drawer somewhere.  No need to throw them out."

Alfred raised an eyebrow.  "Indeed, sir.  One may often have a need for black silk pajamas covered in Superman symbols."

"They're not pajamas," Bruce corrected him absent-mindedly, "They're royal consort robes."  Alfred blinked.  Was his master blushing, just a little?

"Ah," he said dryly.  "One will get notably more use out of that."

Bruce was looking at himself rather critically in the mirror.  He cast a look at the butler.  "Alfred?"

"Yes sir?"

"Just put the robes away for now, Alfred."

"Yes sir."

As the door closed behind Alfred, he heard Bruce mutter to himself, somewhat dubiously, "Fetching?"  



End file.
